


Death Cannot Kill What Never Dies

by brevitas



Series: Love is Stronger Than Death [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Zombie AU, but I figured a heads-up was in order, the violence isn't really that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:06:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world bloodied by the undead the alive need to band together--a group traveling to Pennsylvania run into a drunkard and a poet barricaded in a library and persuade them to join.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Cannot Kill What Never Dies

" _Boom_ , bitch! Suck it!"

Bahorel pulls his machete free with a noise similar to the gross popping of a melon and braces his boot against the zombie's collarbone so that he can wipe the blade clean on its tattered shirt. He sets it on his shoulder as he turns and to his right Courfeyrac dispatches a second zombie with a dagger to the base of its skull.

The four of them are back-to-back in something of a circle and it's been eight months since the virus so they work well together--when Combeferre has to take two steps back to dodge a gaping mouth Marius grabs his elbow and uses the natural momentum to turn them both. The swing of his blade lopes the zombie's head clean off, and it rolls away spewing gore.

"Last one!" Courfeyrac yells, and braves a few steps in order to hurry the woman limping towards him, one leg mangled and nearly rotted through. She stumbles on the debris piled in the store's doorway but she's determined and rights herself, opening and closing her mouth like a drowning fish as she drags herself closer.

Courfeyrac pushes her into Combeferre, who neatly beheads her and wipes the blood off his cheek with the back of his hand when her body pitches messily forward.

They take a few minutes to check the rest of the small grocery store and split into pairs to quicken the process; when Courfeyrac and Marius return from the loading dock and give them a thumbs-up Combeferre pulls out a walkie-talkie and says, "We're clean."

The quiet rumble of an approaching motor is heard over the speakers, followed by a calm, "Good. We're en route."

Soon enough the motor can be heard through the front window, broken out by looters weeks ago, and a truck eases to a stop in front of the store. They try their damnedest to be quiet as they climb out and nudge their doors shut behind them--unnecessary noise draws the undead, and none of them want to try to deal with zombies _and_ shopping.

Feuilly stays in the pickup's cab with the keys so that if something happens they can get away quickly and Enjolras, Joly and Bossuet join their friends inside. They're meticulous with the buddy system and nobody ever goes somewhere alone, so when Bahorel heads outside to keep Feuilly company he tags Enjolras to take his place as Combeferre's back-up.

They sweep the store for supplies and have the good luck to find a working generator in the back. Courfeyrac and Marius strip it down and carry it out to the truck, talking excitedly about the possibilites as they edge outside. Before the virus neither of them knew much of anything about electronics and repairing but they've learned, and Enjolras is proud to say that the pair can fix just about anything given to them (as for working together, they've always done that--Enjolras found them in Los Angelos six months together and mistook them as a couple at first they're so close).

Enjolras and Combeferre have an organized shopping list and they dole out items amongst the others; the group peruses the aisles and Enjolras checks off those that they find, making notes in the margins so he knows how much they have.

Their supplies are dangerously low and it's good luck that the disease killed the residents of this small Kentucky town early; there's barely anything mising from the shelves, and they even find bottled water pushed into the corner of a busted freezer.

They repack the truck so everything fits and most of them climb in the back, sitting on the edge of the truck bed with their weapon of choice laid across their lap. The afternoon is torrid but not stifling, and they're in high spirits as they settle.

"We need to find somewhere for the night," Enjolras says as he lifts himself into the passenger's seat, easing his door shut. Combeferre starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, broken glass crunching under the truck's wide tires.

"Did you see that library on the way in?" He asks, and Enjolras nods, rolling down his window (the heat is unbearable in here, and there's little risk of a zombie grabbing him when they're moving). "The looters didn't touch it--it looked like the doors were still intact when we drove past."

Enjolras nods thoughtfully, and tells Combeferre to take them that way. He leans out his window and calls to the guys in the back, "We're stopping at the library!"

There's not enough breeze to make it plausible to mishear him, and Courfeyrac squints at him, readjusts his position on top of the generator. "Did you say the _library_?"

"Yes." Enjolras grins at his expression, and Combeferre raises his voice to be heard when he says, "We think it's a good place to camp for the night."

Courfeyrac groans, "I hate books," and Bahorel slaps him on the back, grinning.

The library is right on the edge of town and Combeferre parks the truck to its right, where there's a long stretch of empty road in front of them. He's satisfied that it will be easy to pull away in a hurry. This time everybody comes, and they keep tight as they make their way through the front lobby.

The first floor is deserted, and stripped of anything useful. Nearly all of the bookshelves are gone but rather than a sense of general confusion with what little remains the books are neatly stacked; Feuilly steps around a tower that's nearly as tall as his hip and remarks in wonder, "They're alphabetized."

"Wow," Courfeyrac gusts, setting his hands on his hips. "Clearly some crazy hermit fucker lived here and while his neighbours were dying he did a bit of spring cleaning."

Combeferre snorts and pushes his glasses up his nose, starts to explain to Courfeyrac how unreasonable that theory is when there's a slight noise from upstairs. Instantly all of them are on high-alert; the blades they've been holding loosely in their hands are lifted and they tighten their circle again, bodies brushing as they make their way cautiously to the foot of the staircase.

Enjolras gestures for Bahorel to go first as he is characteristically their rusher, and he gives the group a toothy grin as he heads up. Courfeyrac is at his heels, Feuilly to his left, Joly, Combeferre and Enjolras behind them with Bossuet and Maruis covering their rear. The stairs near the top creak as they climb and there's the soft sound of a blade whisking on a sheath in response; Bahorel is nearly at the second floor and is stayed only when Enjolras says, "They're human."

He sounds surprised, as they all are; they haven't seen humans in two months but there is no mistaking that sound, and zombies do not use swords. For a second there is no sound from above them and then there's a quiet, "You're human too?"

Courfeyrac crows, "Hey, hey, come down here, man! We haven't seen another group for like, ever. Are you alone?"

There's a shuffling and a young blonde appears in the doorway, a long rapier clenched in one fist. Courfeyrac would be impressed with just that (this isn't the 16th century and barely anyone knows how to properly wield a sword) but he's also attractive, with fine features and a plump mouth that curves easily into a smile. His hair must be down to his waist but it's braided now, and studded with a few wildflowers.

They're standing a few feet apart, and regarding each other warily--even though there's few humans left they still squabble amongst each other, and neither can risk the other taking their stores or their lives. Enjolras politely clears his throat and the blonde's eyes snap to him; he readjusts his grip on the sword.

"I'm Enjolras," he says, perfectly mannered. "And this is Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Joly, Combeferre, Bossuet and Marius." He gestures to each as he introduces them and gives Combeferre a look; without needing to ask he puts his pistol away and the others follow suit.

The blonde shifts from foot to foot and looks behind his shoulder, says after a heartbeat, "I'm Jehan."

"You didn't answer me earlier," Courfeyrac points out, looking up at him with an ear-to-ear grin. "Are you alone?"

"No," he replies, and takes a few steps back. "You can come up here, if you'd like."

They circle around near what used to be the check-out desk, and Jehan keeps his distance as they come closer; he jumps when Feuilly says in surprise, "Holy shit. You built a barricade."

"Oh." He looks behind him and laughs, and Courfeyrac nearly falls in love with him right then and there, because nobody laughs like that anymore, free and soft and uncaring of the volume. His eyes light up when he smiles and he says, "It was actually kind of fun."

It doesn't look fun--it looks like a jaw-dropping piece of architecture. Apparently this is where the shelves from downstairs have gone because he's got them fit together, some missing chunks where he needed to readjust the angle, others upside-down or sideways. Chairs are in the mix and there are carefully-crafted murder holes amongst the rubble, and it nearly tickles the ceiling. It stretches from wall-to-wall, and Combeferre has to really look to figure out how somebody can get behind it (there's a thin gap near the right wall, and he thinks the chair that's mainly covering it can be easily moved).

"Grantaire designed it," Jehan says while the group admires the blockade.

Joly echoes, "Grantaire?"

"Yeah--he's back here." Jehan knocks on a desk with the face turned towards them and says loudly, "I think they're friendly, R."

Enjolras doesn't see the muzzle of the sniper rifle until it moves, and the metal catches the light and flashes; it disappears from a crevice and he elbows Combeferre, who's eyes minutely widen (a sniper is even more surprising than a swordsman--Courfeyrac had notably tried it out a few times before and nearly broke his collar bone when his aim went wrong).

The shelves scrape against each other as 'R' comes out, sliding through a narrow gap he creates. He's dark-haired and has black smudges underneath both eyes, no doubt the product of sleepless nights, and Enjolras is almost certain he's drunk. He loses whatever admiration he had for the man immediately--even if he _does_ have a sniper rifle he's definitely useless on it, and probably uses it strictly as a prop.

He has the rifle slung over one shoulder and pushes his curly hair out of his eyes, glancing sidelong at Jehan. "What are you guys doing here?" He asks, and his voice is husky and deep (stubbornly Enjolras ignores how his stomach tightens to hear him speak--he will not be seduced by a drunkard, he tells himself sternly).

"Collecting supplies," Combeferre says when Enjolras doesn't answer. "We emptied out that grocery store a few blocks south."

Grantaire and Jehan exchange a heavy look, and Enjolras makes the connection before his deputy does. "Were you two relying on that?"

"Kinda." Grantaire slouches against the barricade, the butt of his gun bumping his hip. "We've got some things here but we were planning on cleaning that place out and taking off within the week."

"You're moving on?" Courfeyrac asks, surprised.

Jehan nods, sheathing his sword finally. "It's getting crowded here, and a few days ago some jerks came in and burned the dollar store down."

Feuilly nods and says, "Yeah, we saw that on the way in." The building had been nothing more than a burned husk when they passed it, and some of the foundation had still been smoldering.

Combeferre is looking determinedly at Enjolras and trying to get his attention but Enjolras already knows what he wants; he sighs and turns to look at his lieutenant when the staring becomes too much. Sure enough the set of Combeferre's mouth tells him everything he needs to know, and Enjolras frowns.

But he subtly nods and Combeferre smiles, turns back to Jehan and R. "Do you two want to come with us?" He asks, and Jehan beams, sidles closer to his companion until their elbows bump. Enjolras can't tell whether they're friends or lovers and he frowns again, but keeps quiet. "We're going to Pennsylvania and you're welcome to get a ride or, if you'd like, to stay."

R rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes and Jehan stands on his tip-toes to whisper something in his ear; he laughs and shakes his head as he looks at Combeferre. "Sure," he says, and Courfeyrac delightedly grins. "Wouldn't mind seeing somewhere new."

"You might want to stay the night here though," Jehan says helpfully. "They tend to come into town when it gets dark." And it's clearly getting dark now, the sun setting through the thin cracks allowed in a boarded window, so Jehan has a point (the only one of their group who likes fighting zombies in the dark is Feuilly, who has a tendency to light them on fire on watch them burn).

"Fine." Enjolras turns to his group and they willingly wait for him to issue orders, content and obedient (behind him Grantaire surveys this with an arched eyebrow, surprised and curious). "Bring in enough supplies for dinner and breakfast and make sure the truck's covered before you come back up."

They split up themselves, always in pairs, and head downstairs with different tasks in mind. Enjolras disappears to the first level with Combeferre, and they're talking about something under their breath that sounds like it's on the verge of becoming an argument.

"You sure you want to go with them?" Grantaire asks when the last of them have trudged out the doors. Jehan is twisting a thin ivy vine between his fingers and smiles up at his friend.

"I do," he says decisively. "I have a good feeling about them." Grantaire grunts, and Jehan gives him a playful kiss on the cheek, rousing a smile. "Besides, if we don't like them we can always ditch."

Grantaire laughs (as Jehan was hoping), and ruffles his hair before heading downstairs to help.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh, I really have no excuse for this?  
> I just really like zombies  
> and Les Mis  
> and thus  
> this was conceived
> 
> I'm turning it into a series so have no fear, more updates will come! I hope you guys like it, I really enjoy zombies so there's that to consider
> 
> title is from a William Penn poem:  
> "They that love beyond the world  
> cannot be separated by it.  
> Death cannot kill what never dies."  
> I thought it was suiting because it applies to both zombies and love, eh?
> 
> and the title series plays off the same idea, it's from a quote by Oscar Wilde  
> "Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is."
> 
> kisses to everybody who reads, I hope you like it!
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest is you'd like to follow or talk to me or whatnot :)


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